Safe For Work Poetry: A Limerick
Ah, spring is in the air. This is a time for new beginings. A time for fun and exciting things, perhaps even shorts. And to celebrate, I’ve translated a once vile and in no way appropriate for the workplace environment poem into something far less offensive. This will likely prove to be a much more reference ladden and yet fun grouping of words! A set of words which pay no mind to the long standing “traditional” ways of writing a limerick. So take your a-a-b-b-a format and shove ‘em right up your horrible stinking cunt holes. Motherfuckers.
There once was a man from the island where the television show “Wings” took place.
With a male genitalia so long he was able to fit it into his mouth.
And as he wiped off his face,
He said smiling,
“If my ear was a vaginal orifice I’d make love to it.”
-jason.
An Apology: Sorry About That, My Dad Likes Curse Words (at least it wasn’t racially motivated though).
Yeah, sorry about all that. We never should have made him the guest blogger. As a side note, if it helps to explain things, I was born November 13, 1983. Roughly nine months after February 14, 1983.
-jason.
Dear St. Valentine: You’re a Jerk and Nobody Likes You.
You sonofabitch.
I hope you die in a fire because you’re an asshole. Do you think it’s a gosh damned coincidence that my dumbassed, douche-mouthed, wide-browed son was born on November the 13th?
Do you? Do you really? C’mon, and do some damned math. Fucker.
First I have to buy fucking candy, now I have to put up with this dickweed?
I hope you die, painfully and fucking soon.
–love,
Jimbo (jason’s dad)
XOXO (fuck off and die, you are a butthole eater.)
Tis the season….for fruit
The cold winter in Indiana does not offer a lot of things that one can be joyous about. The first snow is nice, for like a day. Then that sucks. Snow days rocked as a kid, but don’t exist for us adult types.
So, what gets me through this time of no sun? Citrus. The great taste of a nice clementine. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy other aspects of winter. I love Christmas. I love playoff football. I love basketball season. However, I find that clementines are a small everyday occurrence that keep me going. Such as this morning when I had two for breakfast. Instantly brightened my day.
So, if you are looking for a last minute gift idea….just sayin.
-Dusty
What’s In A Name: Mine Conjures Images Of a Hockey-Mask Wearing Guy With A Machete Who Kills Teenagers That Fuck Near Wooded Areas.
It’s true folks. Names mean a lot. Name your kid Neidermeyer Jones and he’s going to be a douche. Name your kid Adamantium Jones and he’ll pull ass like, whoa! And sure, I may not know how babies are made, born, or properly raised but I feel that with a name like Adamantium there’s a safe chance he’ll have fewer confidence issues and could possibly be born with metal bones and if you’re super lucky (not counting you, woman who gives birth) metal claws! HOORAY FOR INDESTRUCTABLE BABY CLAWS! HOORAY!
Hello, my name is Jason and I’m an alcoholi—oh shit, sorry forgot where I was for a second. Hello, my name is Jason and it’s Greek origin means “to heal”. I figure that’s why I’m so good with band-aids. According to wiki.name.com, I also hosted a party for Paul Revere or some shit and led a group of Greek Astronauts on some kind of mission to a lesbian planet. I’m pretty badass.
By now you’re thinking, “Who are some other famous Jason’s? I know I’ve heard/seen that F-ing name before, of whom am I thinking?”
Well let me rank the other Jason’s for you:
2) Jason Priestly (He was in 90210, I think he wrecks cars or some shit for a living now)
3) Jason Bateman (He’s known for being Justine Bateman’s sister)
4) Jason London (He’s the one that doesn’t take drugs but was in Dazed & Confused. His brother did Mallrats, which wasn’t drug themed, weird right?)
5) Jason Reitman. (He directed some movies you may have seen)
That’s the end of the list. There’s me and these other shlubs. Upon reflection, it’s kinda sad actually. Maybe you expecting parents should get your shit together and choose a good name; might I suggest the name Jason, for instance?
Don’t name your kid that though if you think he’s going to grow up and sell meth. We Jason’s don’t need that kind of negative press. Don’t you dare raise some douche and ruin our good name.
–jason.
DISCLAIMER: This entire piece is a work of fiction. (except for the super fun nicknames)
A Highfivepatrol Open Letter:
Dear Erin “Don’t Call Me John, That One Dude Who Created The TV Show ‘COPS’ Which Is Totally Shitty” Walsh.
A few alternate headline nicknames:
-Erin “don’t call me former head of the Canadian Army, Geoffrey” Walsh
-Erin “don’t call me Mikey from The Goonies” Walsh.
-Erin “don’t call me deceased football coach Bill” Walsh.
-Erin “don’t call me Sheila (Christian singer/songwriter/author)” Walsh.
-Erin “I want to bone Kate” Walsh.
Dearest Ms. Erin “Martha” Walshington,
We here at Highfivepatrol miss you. We are bored with our jobs and didn’t realize just how much we care for your mean-spirited, snarky, and often (always) insulting commentary. As a sidenote, we also feel like we may need to look into getting some sort of therapy for our masochistic conversational seeking behavioral tendencies.
We don’t want to come off stalkerish, but when you go on these extended “work trips“, we’re left alone with our strange and fantastic thoughts while also trying to create an atmosphere of actual work production. The result is somewhat lackluster because it turns out we just make sad faces at the computer and end up being called out by our co-workers.
We’d also like to apologize for rejecting so many of your character based blogpost suggestions. We feel that our consistent rejection of your fun-loving if racist and homophobic characters is helping create an environment of negativity which forces you to look for work out of state. But we’re willing to relent if you are willing to come back to the contiguous 48.
Here’s the deal-eeh-oh, c’mon back and we’ll publish:
1 post of: “Jerry the alcoholic/Satanist Indian” – but you can’t use the word “savage” more than twice. Even when referring to the character Jerry the alcoholic/Satanist Indian himself.
1 post of: “Perry the Sexual Predator” – okay, we guess it’s a fun premise, but seriously, lets at least THINK about changing the name (and premise).
and, reluctantly, we’ve decided to let you post 1 (highly edited) version of:
“Dick Balls, The Man Who Has A Dick For Balls And Vice-Versa”. We’re not sure we can begin to describe what’s wrong with this character here but seriously, a dick for balls and vice-versa? That can’t even be close to an actual thing. How would he pee? Did you even think about that? Of course you didn’t.
Okay, we have to go bang some hot ladies, and although not all of us can be trotting around the globe like some sort of globetrotter, we still wish you safe travels and fun adventures.
PS: Erin “don’t call me Brenda” Walsh. Hilarious.
–Highfivepatrol.
Homegrown Terrorism: Turns Out That Doesn’t Mean They’re Selling That Terrorist Weed I Heard About In A Commercial.
I’ve been absent for a long while. I should apologize, but I’m not going to do that. Two reasons; 1, I’m a stone cold badass. And 2, reason number 1 again.
I would explain my absence in its entirety, but it would likely get me killed by the remnants of the anti-government militia I’ve been imbedded with. Yeah, Highfivepatrol readers, I’ve been out there on the streets (well, woods in Michigan) putting my life on the line to bring you the real news. From the streets (back woods of northern Michigan).
As it would turn out, our president may not even be from this country. I know, weird right? Well, at least the [possible] foreigner we elected can read and speak actual words, unlike that last doucheface.
I also learned how to make napalm from a guy named REDACTED who kept trying to aggressively F me in my A while telling me that I was a “faggot” for not “playing along”. Strange times, friends. Strange times.
After the ATF raid and my subsequent imprisonment/briefing I was able to come back home, relax, ice my butthole and play some good old fashioned video games on my old fashioned high definition TV. And being the kindly gentleman I happen to be, I’ve listed a review of the games I’ve played.
FALLOUT NEW VEGAS:
This was the most anticipated game of the year (for me). I loved it. I loved every inch and every bit of every one of my 80 hours spent playing it. I also got to murder Matthew Perry with a machete. But in my defense, he like, totes deserved it, like omg.
CALL OF DUTY: BLACK OPS:
Played this one on the ole’ PS3, super fun, but really, really short. I didn’t get online because I would have had to get up and plug in cords and shit. Also, I would have sucked tremendously hard. The campaign mode is only like 5 hours long but that’s not why people buy Call of Duty (COD) games. People buy these games for the fun of killing other people online in different eras with different weapons from aforementioned eras.
FABLE III: (that means 3, for those of you who don’t understand roman numerals)
The most improved sequel I’ve ever played. Really impressive. A stabby Sims for some, but it was great fun. A good story and a super, super sweet map. It takes place 500 years after Fable I, 50 years after Fable II, and hopefully 5 years before Fable IV: A New Hope.
STAR WARS: THE FORCE UNLEASHED II: (again, for those of you that don’t understand roman numerals, it means 2)
This game was also super short. And unlike COD this game doesn’t have an online multiplayer that people love to play, so I have no idea why it’s so short. I assume it’s because George Lucas loves to fuck with me personally, but that’s likely not true. I’m sure he likes fucking with all of you guys too. As far as the actual game stuff goes, the backgrounds looks super cool, the fighting is fun but unbelievably repetitive and it’s a fucking shame they even involved Yoda in the marketing scheme.
Lame, It Was. (see what I did there? it’s like Yoda was saying that.)
–jason.
RIP to Jason’s colon.
Jason is sick. He has been making shit pee out of his butt all day. He think’s it is prolly something he ate. Since Jason generally does not eat the best foods this could be a distinct possibility. Mix that in with his smoking, drinking, and general lethargic life and you have a recipe for disaster. Frankly, I am amazed he ever makes it out fo the house. None the less, let us all send good karma to Jason’s colon.
-Dusty
Went to a football game, sat next to ass hats.
So, I ponied up some cash to take The Girl to a Colts game Monday night. Now, I hate the Colts. Hate them. Haaaaaate them. However, this post isn’t about that at all. It’s about the idiots we see in public at ever sporting event.
So, we took our seats in lovely section 435. Not a terrible view. The ladies sitting to the right of Ray seemed super nice. The field looked great and Billy Ray sang the anthem. I know right, stacking up to be an awesome night! Then the four lame asses show up. They wedge their drunk selves to the left of me. Directly to my left was a bald fellow who insisted on leaning on me for about ten minutes. I gave him the death stare. Then I gave him the I might piss on your back stare. He swapped seats with one of the girls in their party.
Then the Colts scored. I know, that sucked enough without having to endure a lapdance I didn’t want. New seat buddy fancied herself a bit of a dancer. I fancied her as a drunk skank ho. So, for the next few minutes I got a shoulder full of ass. Now I have arm herpes. Gross. This went on for most of the first quarter. Ho’ didn’t even know who was playing, so that was nice.
A few minutes into the second quarter the girls decided they wanted to go to the Bud Light Party Zone. I have no idea what this is, but my guess it’s where drunk girls go when they realize they made their boyfriends spend way to much money on tickets they really didn’t want. Said boyfriends agreed that the girls could only go if they agreed to eat each other out when they returned to the hotel. I puked a little. The girls giggled. I’m not sure about the rest of the conversation. I was too busy puking, however shortly after the girls left. So maybe there was a lil lezzie action. Not sure.
Mercifully, at the half the guys left. I thought I was alone on my island of hate until I noticed everyone else seemed to be overjoyed at their exit. It made me tingle with happiness. I may hate colts fans, but at least they know that drunk ass hats are annoying.
-Dusty
How to look super creepy at Victoria Secret.
Last night Victoria Secret had a fancy invite only party. You had to be a member of Pink Nation (fans of their pink line) and present said invitation at the door. I date a girl who wears sweat pants from this establishment. Since her birthday is approaching and I’m cheap a sale is a sale is a sale. At least that’s what I thought. I never really took stock in going to the VS by myself, during some special sale. I was the only guy there alone, with about five days of stubble, and gym shorts on. To make matters worse, this wasn’t at all whom I expected to be shopping. It was tons of teenagers and some girls there who had to be no older than 12. All yippin and yappin about how cute some bras and underwear are. Yeah, I felt a lil weird to say the least. None the less, I forged on, found the sweats, and conquered the sale. At the check out I even joked with the cashier about being the weirdest customer of the day. She giggled and said I had nothing on the guy who came in to buy a few thongs for himself. Guess who doesn’t look so creepy now!
-Dusty
